Club Radio
by labyrinths
Summary: AU: What if the disco scene had resembled the one in the first movie more closely? Amy and Jerry go dancing. Likely a two-parter.
1. Chapter 1

**Club Radio**

**Hedge Labyrinth**

AU: What if the disco scene had resembled the one in the first movie more closely? Amy and Jerry go dancing. Likely a two-parter.

* * *

><p>"Amy … OK, I need you to just forget about me. OK? I'm not going to let you get hurt. I'm sorry."<p>

Tears prickled Amy's eyes. She looked at her boyfriend and tried to hold back.

"What? How? How Am I going to get hurt?" she asked, exasperated.

Charlie did not answer. He jammed his hands in his pockets, looking guilty. He did not utter a word.

"Fine," she muttered. "Fine!"

She rushed out the door thinking Charlie would stop her, waiting to feel the pressure of his hand on her arm. Nothing. He didn't move an inch.

She slammed the door shut, crossed her arms and began promptly stomping away. As she was turning the corner in a huff she tripped and fell … and it was just her luck her hand fell square onto a broken beer bottle. A sliver of glass lodged into her palm.

Half-sprawled across the sidewalk Amy felt so utterly miserable she thought she could curl up and weep. Quickly she tried to scramble to her feet, squinting and staring at the ugly, little brown piece of glass sticking out from her flesh.

"Agh," she muttered and began trying to tug it out.

"Don't try to squeeze it out. You'll embed it further."

Amy looked up. Jerry, Charlie's neighbour, was looking down at her. His hair was a bit tussled and he was wearing an A-shirt which clung to his muscles. He smiled at her, slowly.

"You need tweezers."

Amy blinked.

"Come with me. I'll bandage it for you."

"You're some sort of doctor?"

"I trained a bit. A long time ago," he said with a shrug. "It wasn't my thing."

"Oh."

He didn't look like a medical student. Not with that physique. He began walking and Amy followed after a brief moment of hesitation. She didn't really know the guy but he lived right next door to Charlie. And he'd seemed nice enough when they'd met the other day, helping Charlie's mom and all.

The inside of his house was sparse. There were lots of things still laying in boxes, proof that he'd only recently moved in. He motioned for her to sit down but she didn't. Instead she stood in the middle of his kitchen, feeling a little lost.

He returned quickly, a little metal box under his arm.

"Lemme see," he said.

Amy opened her palm. He took the tweezers and pried the glass so quickly it hardly hurt at all. He rubbed a drop of ointment onto her skin and tied a bandaged around her palm, knotting it with ease.

"That should stop the bleeding. Take it off tonight and let it air. It'll heal faster."

He'd been very quick and focused. "Wow. You weren't joking about the training," she said flexing her fingers.

"No," he said placing the bandages and tweezers back in his box and letting it rest on one of the kitchen counters.

He looked at her. It wasn't the other way people looked at Amy. His gaze seemed to linger, silently appraising her. It made her uncomfortable, gave her goosebumps.

She rubbed her arms.

"I ought to walk back home now," she mumbled.

"You want a ride?"

"Oh, no. Charlie—"

And then she recalled Charlie was a dick and she couldn't slink back into his house and ask him for a ride. And it was late and she'd already stumbled and fallen in the dark once.

"I've got to head out anyway. To the Strip," he said. "It won't be any trouble."

"You sure?"

He flashed her a big smile, teeth very white. His eyes smiled too, amused.

"Yeah. Alright."

"Good."

#

She turned on the car stereo. The music was some sort of old 80s tune.

Wonder why, I try to fight the chemistry  
>I get high, every time your body's next to me<br>I don't need a book to show me how  
>Oooooh ooooh<p>

Amy rolled her eyes at the silly lyrics and uttered a low "ugh".

He turned to look at her, features sharp, and quirked an eyebrow at her. "What?"

Amy was shocked he'd even noticed the tiny noise that had escaped her throat. Well. No need to fib. "Too retro."

"Too retro? I'll have you know that's Evelyn 'Champagne' King."

"Aha," she said with a petulant smirk.

"I had all her LPs," he paused, turned his attention back to the road. "Nevermind."

She felt a little bad then, for being so childish. Making fun of his taste in music. She could tease Charlie about dorky stuff like that. But this wasn't Charlie. It was Charlie's neighbour.

How old was the guy, anyway?

Thirty? Thirty-five?

Like waaaay too old.

_Tool old for exactly what, Amy?_ a snide interior voice asked and she closed her eyes, filling silly and teenagery hormonal.

"Are you heading to work tonight?" she asked, trying to be pleasant. Trying to make little chit-chat and not think about … stuff.

"Nah. I'm heading to meet an old acquaintance of mine."

_Female or male_, she wondered_. _

"Cool."

"Actually, not cool. I hate this guy's guts. But I might as well pay him a visit before he pays me one," Jerry chuckled.

"Well, maybe you can have some fun after on the Strip. There's nothing to do _here_."

"Nothing to do on a Friday night?"

"Trigonometry," she said in a mock-chipper voice.

She had planned to hang out at Charlie's place, watch old movies and play video games. Maybe make out…but that was all out the window now that she'd been dumped.

It was his turn to smirk petulantly. "Pretty Princess doesn't have a date?"

"Hey!"

"Sorry," he said raising his hands for a second, then putting them back on the wheel. "You just look like…"

"A pretty princess?"

"I'm just flashing back. High school insecurities pouring out," he said. "You know, people with the silly vinyl collection don't hang out with the popular folks. You look popular. Happy. The kind of person who goes out on Fridays to have a good time."

"Yeah."

Maybe she _should_ go out. Maybe she should have a good time without Charlie. She didn't need him. She could have a perfectly awesome night without him. What's the point of having just turned eighteen if you don't get to enjoy it?

"Where on the Strip are you headed?"

He told her and she remembered there was a club there. Club Radio. She'd wanted to go for a while. She told him to drop her there instead.

"Won't your parents mind?"

Mind? They were hardly around. She'd run away two years before and they hadn't even noticed until after a whole day. And when she came back there wasn't even an admonishment. The only times Amy got a home cooked meal was when Mrs. Brewster had her over for dinner. It was depressing to think that when she went to college in a few months even that little bit of normality would be over. Her dad had been saying she should attend his _alma mater_, all the way on the east coast. He probably did it just to spite her.

"I'll text them," she said, typing a brief message.

She thought about also texting Charlie, then her fingers froze over the keys.

And apologize? Because he was being a weirdo?

Amy put the cellphone away.

Jerry gave her another one of those intense looks of his. It was damn wolfish and for a second there she thought maybe she ought to go home and just sleep. Then he smiled, disarmingly, and pressed a button, skipping to another song.

Your life is the same  
>Day after day<br>Everything that you do  
>You do the same old way<p>

"A bit better," she conceded.

"Progress," he replied, cheerfully.

Amy smiled.

To be continued …


	2. Chapter 2

**Club Radio**

**Hedge Labyrinth**

AU: What if the disco scene and aftermath had resembled the one in the first movie more closely? Amy and Jerry go dancing. Conclusion.

* * *

><p>Amy was having a lousy time. She had flashed her fake ID, bought herself a drink and watched the people dancing at the club. All she did was watch. She couldn't be bothered to dance. She couldn't be bothered to purchase another drink. She rested against a column, a scowl on her face.<p>

Why was she there, anyway? All those happy couples writhing against each other reminded her of Charlie.

Well, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

And then she saw him walking, moving from one side to the other of the club. Hadn't he said he had a meeting with a friend? What was he doing there?

He was staring at her.

Jerry.

Amy had once watched a documentary about sharks and their remarkable ability to adapt to the environment. They had existed since 400 million years ago and kept on surviving when other species perished.

Something about the way Jerry moved made her think of a shark.

OK. That was it. The alcohol had clearly gotten to her head and she was thinking idiotic stuff. She was going home.

Amy turned around, looked once over her shoulder and couldn't see him anymore, then turned again and bumped square into Jerry.

Amy gasped. How had he moved so fast? Hadn't he been way on the other side of the club?

"Having a good time?" he asked.

"Not really," she said.

"Want to dance?"

Amy opened her mouth to utter a "no", but Jerry grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her next to him, and next thing she knew they were dancing.

He was a good dancer. Charlie could barely keep from stepping on her toes. Jerry moved with ease, sure of himself. Amy began to relax, enjoying the music.

They were very close to each other and now she felt his hand slide up, brushing the side of her breast.

Amy bit her lip. Did she really want to make out with this guy?

Amy tensed, frowning and moved to turn away.

Jerry held her, tugging back.

"Hey, it's been fun, but ..."

Jerry held up a hand and sliced his own thumb with a viciously long nail.

Amy felt his grip on her grow stronger and he pressed her, flush against him.

She intended to yell a loud "Are you psycho?"

He pressed his bloodied thumb against her lips. Amy swallowed.

She had the oddest feeling, like the time she got real drunk at Marcy's party the year before. Like she couldn't keep her balance and was about to fall to her knees on the dance floor. But she'd had one drink.

She did slip down but he lifted her.

In a daze she looked at Jerry.

He kissed her.

She felt the pressure of his lips against her neck.

#

It was like drowning. She'd sink into sensation and then rise for a moment, like a woman struggling to get her head above water. When she emerged there were moments of lucidity. Moments when Amy realized she was laying on a bed, that her clothing seemed to be disappearing at an accelerated rate, and that she was being touched in ways her boyfriend had never touched her.

She also grasped that Jerry had removed the bandage from her hand and licked the wound, then kissed her neck and bit into it.

His eyes were very dark; she wasn't sure there was any white in them. His lips were smeared with blood.

He leaned down, to nibble at her neck again, and Amy pressed a hand against his chest, holding him in place. She was wearing only her undershirt and panties. He'd lost his shirt.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"A vampire. Isn't it obvious?"

She'd watched enough flicks with men in swirling capes to put two and two together. She wasn't dumb. She'd figured out why Charlie's home looked like Halloween had come early.

"I didn't say what. I said _who._"

This made him pause. He shifted his weight and sat up straight.

Something also seemed to shift or snap inside of her and she was able to think more clearly.

"You know, I kinda like you," he said, smirking. "Here's what we'll do. I'm going to give you a choice. Something I didn't have, by the way. You can die a painful death, drained dry, to compensate me for your boyfriend's meddling interest in my life."

"Or?"

"Or you can join my pack. Eternal youth. You," he said, a nail sliding down her throat, his voice almost a growl, "are very pretty."

"I've heard that one before," she said, derisive.

His eyes snapped up at her, ugly and sharp. He looked quite unattractive in that angle. Then he tossed his head back and laughed.

"Well, then, what will it be?" he asked when the laughter died.

"What kind of crummy _Choose Your Own Adventure_ book is this?" she muttered, sliding back until she bumped onto the headboard.

"Oh, I'd give you a head start," he said.

He sounded amused, like an animal that toys with its food. She sensed she could keep him talking and gain time and perhaps a chance for escape in doing so, like a modern Scheherazade.

"Is it true? The part about crosses, garlic and holy water?"

She thought he was going to leap on her and tear out her throat and perhaps he considered it for a few seconds before sitting next to Amy so that they were both with their backs against the headboard. He laced his hands together behind his head.

"Most of it."

"Sunlight?"

"Kills. Now, about my offer..."

His hand brushed her wrist. Amy removed it from his reach, giving him a hot, angry look.

"You really think I'm going to go around calling you Master and eating bugs?"

"Where'd you get that from."

"They assigned us _Dracula _two years ago."

"It's bullshit. Can't turn into no wolf."

"Yeah, well, how about the whole hypnotizing..."

"When did I hypnotize you?"

"You drugged me," she said, almost stammering.

A sly, snide smile.

"Oh, _that_. No, that just brings out what's already in you, Amy. You're wrapped tight like a wire, Pretty Princess, but it's all_ dying_ to come out."

Not much was coming out with Charlie, that was for sure. Most of the boys at school were jerks and she'd been drawn to Charlie because he seemed sweeter than the rest. But he always acted so nervous, so uncertain.

Even before a vampire moved into their area.

Amy was beginning to wonder if she was ever going to have sex with Charlie.

Amy blushed and dipped her head.

"We can dispense with the Master," Jerry said, "if you like."

He leaned down to look at her.

"You didn't answer my question," she said, her voice high.

"Which one?"

"Who are you?"

"I was born more than 400 hundred years ago. Got to hang out with Sheridan Le Fanu. I was in Paris during World War 2. In California in the 60s and in New York during the 70s. I had a pack which got burned to a crisp in the 80s. Eager vampire killers, you know?"

He was swooping down for a kiss.

"Those are just facts. Who are you, really?"

He hovered close to her, lips almost touching hers and then he inched back, his head cocked to the side.

"I don't know. Who is the real Amy?" he asked with mock curiosity.

"The real Amy," she muttered and couldn't even think what else to say.

She licked her lips, started again.

"The real Amy likes to eat marshmallows, but only the miniature ones. She still draws unicorns on the margins of her notebooks even if she is way too old for that. She doesn't want to go live in Boston. She believes Twinkies would survive a nuclear holocaust. She thinks musicals are silly but she still watches them."

She thought all the air had escaped from her lungs. She sat feeling the beating of her own heart beneath her fingers.

"You've got to make a choice, Amy," he said.

"That is not a choice! You could just let me go."

"I let Charlie go and now he's starting a Vampire Killer Posse. I let you go and tomorrow you and your boyfriend will try to stake me through the heart. No deal."

"That's not fair!"

"Life is never fair."

_You can't do this_, she thought. _You can't_.

Maybe she could hit him with the bedside table lamp and run out. How fast can a vampire run? Where where they, anyway? Some hotel on the Strip? If she screamed would anyone pay attention?

She had reached over for the telephone and was about to bang it again his head when he spoke.

"I'm Jeremiah," he muttered. "That's my real name. Fuck, I _never _tell people about that name."

Something about the way he said that made Amy's arm freeze in mid-motion.

She just stared at him.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I had a large vinyl collection but it was lost in the fire, like so many other things. I get a little bit bored sometimes so I type. On a real typewriter. I collected typewriters for a while but that..." he gestured vaguely, his hand rising and falling, "...that too was lost. Not in the fire. Before that. I was around during the Year Without a Summer and I told Mary her story idea was bollocks. But what did I know? I used to read a lot. Got tired of that too in the 20s."

He lifted her chin, as if to get a better look at her.

Amy thought he was going to try and kiss her. He didn't. He just looked at her with a certain curiosity that bordered on awe.

"Dante Gabriel Rossetti painted a girl like you in 1868. Or he should have if he didn't. Ha," he said without mirth. "I'm confusing you."

"And myself," he added, so low he might not even have said it.

He moved back, as if to swing his legs down from the bed.

It was Amy who touched his shoulder.

It was Amy who kissed him.

Amy who took off her undershirt.

Later, she stared at the ceiling and figured it seemed like a good idea at the time.

The End


End file.
